


Wolf

by tigriswolf



Series: dark fairy tales [1]
Category: Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms, Rotkäppchen | Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Character Death, Child Abuse, Child Murder, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Denial, F/M, Parent/Child Incest, Poetry, Rape/Non-con References, References to Shakespeare, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wears a cloak of fury and fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Wolf  
> Fandom: Little Red Ridinghood  
> Disclaimer: I don't own the fairy tale. There is a line from "Romeo and Juliet" in here. Belongs to Shakespeare, or whoever owns his plays now.  
> Warnings: implied child abuse, death, pedophilia  
> Pairings: M/F  
> Rating: R  
> Wordcount: 465  
> Point of view: third and first

_A plague on both your houses!_  
So said him as he died.

-

She wears a cloak of fury and fire,  
hiding her drab moth-wings and porcelain skin.  
The hood is always up, shielding her ebon-straw hair  
from the harsh elements that will fade it further  
away from that raven's-wing it used to be.

-

_And the wind howls_ ,  
_shrieking through the trees_ ,  
_and you run, little one_ ,  
_but you'll never escape me_. 

-

Mama doesn't know, doesn't want to know;  
and eyes can't see what the mind won't acknowledge.  
So Mama just sews and sews, blind to the  
fallen child across the dinner table.  
And Papa, oh Papa, she's still his little girl,  
but she stopped being little long ago.

-

 _A plague on both your houses!_  
He was her favorite from that story,  
and oh, how he died.

-

The forest is cold as she trudges through it;  
her feet shuffle in the freezing snow.  
She kicked off her slippers back at the house,  
and now she curses such foolishness.  
She clutches her threadbare cloak,  
torn and unraveling and not warm at all,  
closer about her shoulders.  
The ruby bled from it long ago.

-

_Come closer, little one_ ,  
_run your fingers through my hair_.  
_Do not fear me, my dear_ ,  
_for you'll never escape_. 

-

 _A plague on both your houses!_  
It echoes in her head, his dying curse,  
and she whispers it to herself,  
hurrying through the darkened woods.

-

Papa smiles sadly at Mama, pulling her close.  
She lies in his arms, silent tears on her face.  
She clutches his shirt, mutters a plea,  
and he says, _Forgive me._  
Mama shakes her head, sobs harder,  
and Papa presses a kiss to her hair.

-

Her footsteps fade into the snow.  
Threads of a crimson cloak flutter in the icy breeze,  
threads with no cape to be seen.  
Here a faded hair, there a faded hair,  
and look! There a bloodstain.  
She wore that cloak to hide her drab moth-wings,  
to shield herself from the world and its pain—  
and look.  
There, do you see?  
Mama sewed that cape  
and Mama carried her to term  
and Mama now weeps in Papa's arms,  
because the Wolf, as always, has won.

-

She was Papa's little girl.  
But she stopped being little long ago.  
And her cloak of fury and fire could not mask the experience.  
She was Papa's little girl.  
and what's his stays his.

-

 _A plague on both your houses!_  
If she'd had last words, they'd be the same as his.

-

_And the wind moans_ ,  
_sighing through the trees_ ,  
_and you cry, little one_ ,  
_but you've finally sated me_. 

-

The Wolf licked his lips  
and his fangs glistened in the moonlight.  
The Wolf laughed and dug a hole  
for her fragile little bones.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a condensed version of the original poem, which I wrote for my poetry class but now am not going to use.

her footsteps fade into the snow. threads of a crimson

 

cloak flutter in the icy breeze, threads with no cape to

 

be seen. here a faded hair, there a faded hair, and look! 

 

there a bloodstain. she wore that cloak to hide her drab

 

moth-wings, to shield herself from the world and its pain—

 

and look. there, do you see? mama sewed that cape and

 

mama carried her to term and mama now weeps in

 

papa’s arms, because the wolf, as always, has won.

 

 

the wolf licked his lips and his fangs glistened in the moonlight.

 

the wolf laughed and dug a hole for her fragile little bones.

 

 

 


End file.
